


Today is the Greatest Day

by synvamp



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff, CW: mention of Chapter 12, Drabbles, Flirting, Fluff, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Love, M/M, Pain, Qrowtober2020, Swearing, Very Mild Spice, cw: alcoholism, joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synvamp/pseuds/synvamp
Summary: In Qrow's life, some things were stable. Reliable.Raven's fear.Ozpin's games.Ruby's smile.The way Harbinger's hilt felt in his hand.Other things were so ephemeral that before he'd even gotten the shape of them, they were gone.Thirty-one drabbles for the Qrowtober 2020 prompt list (which I loved). They're all individual scenes but they link together into one story.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 332
Kudos: 61





	1. Professions

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Today by the Smashing Pumpkins.

\---xxx---

Ozpin had always loved his little games. Puzzles and quizzes to keep them all on their toes. This question sounded a lot like the start of a lecture and Qrow was starting to get fed up with lectures.

What was the difference between a profession and a job? Qrow had answered “Private school.”

It got him a wry smile from the headmaster but not much more. That rubbed Qrow the wrong way just a little. He was used to people loving him or hating him. Either way, it was a reaction. But Ozpin was different. 

His laconic smile, his cool, intelligent indifference. It made Qrow feel small somehow. As if he was looking up into the face of a giant. It filled him with curiosity, irritation, awe... He was used to getting under other people's skin but Ozpin got under his.

"Well?" Oz tapped his cane twice on the wooden floor and the sound echoed out through the shelves. A little gust that travelled all the way to the last dusty corner. He didn't use his power in overt ways but it permeated his being. It was in the universe in the breadth of his gesture. The mountain range in the tilt of his chin. The aurora in the mesmerising shade of his eyes.

Qrow stood and waited until his fingers tingled with it. Oz remained implacable, serene.

“Alright,” Qrow bit, “What's the difference between a profession and a job?”

_Then_ Oz’s face lit up.

“Training,” he said. “Do you want to be a huntsman or do you want to be a hero?”

“Heroes die,” Qrow said.

“But the cause lives on, so heroes die for a reason. I can give you a reason.”

\---xxx---


	2. Feathers

\---xxx---

Qrow held the black shape between his fingers. A soft trailing edge, a flexible core. It gleamed with a syrup of colour, a dark rainbow sheen. A feather. His feather. A feather that had grown out of his body. It didn’t cease to exist when he turned back into a man. He’d tried to understand the way the magic worked. In combat you had to know your own strengths and weaknesses. He’d unlocked a few of the surface mysteries but he still felt ill at ease.

Changing for the first time had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. Oz had told him it would be ok. Raven was ok. But to finally do it… his body felt as though it were folding in on itself. It didn’t hurt but the wrongness of it tingled through his skin and gripped his heart like a clenched fist. The fear rose up and closed his throat and he couldn’t breathe, there was only the twisting, crushing, folding of his flesh into a tiny form. Helpless, weak and small. He hopped on the counter and looked around the office. His red eyes turned to Raven and she cawed softly. “Hello little brother, how do you find this new form?”

He blinked beady eyes which saw the world in startling detail; every movement a sudden burst of colour and instinct. He lifted his wing and marvelled at the dark rainbow which glistened before him. His wing. His feathers. His young strong body turned to fragile bones and skittering, flight-filled instincts. He knew, then, the terror of the hawk and the arrow. He felt the tingling of a fear that his young and reckless soul had never known. A boiling revelation of what it was to be small and weak in a world which was populated by the strong. He felt the truth of being prey. It was in his blood in a way that it had never been before. The smell of Oz’s cologne filled him with terror.

Qrow had never known how dangerous Oz really was until every instinct in his tiny body had screamed at him to fly.

“I hate it,” he cawed back to Raven.

She turned her sinuous neck and looked at him with the same impassive stare which she always had. He wondered why she didn’t feel the fear that gripped him, that scoured him in waves and made his fragile wings tremble. Then he looked into those red, red eyes and saw deep. He realised that she seemed the same because she had always been this afraid. The feeling of being prey was as familiar to her as breathing. When he thought of all that they had survived he knew why, and the truth burrowed inside him like an insect.

When he looked into those red eyes, he used to see himself.

Now, they were empty.

\---xxx---


	3. Rings

\---xxx---

The rings on Qrow’s fingers were mostly made of memories.

One was from the tribe, for his coming of age. Only fifteen and he was a man in a group where living to thirty made you old. He’d been so ready to enter the world as a man. To be someone who chose their own destiny.

The second ring was from Summer. Team STRQ forever in her eyes.

When he put it on his finger he looked at the two bands together. This was his truth: a pledge to kill and a pledge to save. Contradiction and conflict. He brought lies and betrayal in his wake like a destructive storm. He was a bad luck charm.

He finally told Ozpin about the tribe. About why he was there at the Academy: to learn how to kill hunters. Oz didn’t even blink. “Thank you for being so forthcoming.”

“Aren’t you angry?” Qrow had asked. He still longed for a reaction. Something _real._

“Not at all. The question isn’t what you’ve done, the question is: what will you do now?”

Ozpin’s eyes were so bright.

_I fight for a reason._

And Oz was that reason, made flesh.

A battle between creation and destruction. Mirroring the symphony of the gods which forged this world out of chaos.

Qrow would fight to defend life in all its myriad forms.

He would fight and he would die if he had to.

With burning clarity he knew that he could do anything for this man, _would_ do anything for this man. And the thought scared him.

But he didn’t leave.

Then Summer died. He finally tried to break free. Free of the great cause, free of those hypnotic eyes. Ozpin told him that he was needed to save others. Gods he had to believe he was needed. Qrow pushed the fear to the back of his mind and let another man make his choices. It was easy, so easy to give in.

He did what he had to but it left him scarred. With each new scar came more and more fieldwork. He wanted it. He needed to be alone. The rings on his fingers were heavy, heavier than he ever remembered. He found he couldn’t take them off.

He realised in a distant way that he was cold inside but the coldness brought comfort. It stopped him from thinking too deep.

It was better to work alone.

\---xxx---


	4. Patterns

\---xxx---

The little campfire burned merrily. Most of the kids were asleep. He could hear Jaune moving, out in the trees, chasing the shattered certainty of Pyrrha's voice. We all do what we have to, to get through the night.

Qrow liked these slow nights. He felt like he was doing something that mattered. If he could just get them to Atlas safely, there was hope. Even after everything, he still believed in silver eyes.

Qrow breathed in the smoky air and watched a moth flutter idly by. The rhythm of so many people breathing buzzed softly in the air. Maybe he could have had a different life, yeah? Maybe things could have gone more his way. Images of love and a family of his own tried to push into his mind. It was ok though, he was nearly immune to those peaceful, terrible thoughts. Time had finally soothed the sting and he was barely troubled by the hopes which used to carve him into naked pieces.

Instead, he felt a numb kind of satisfaction. This wasn’t the life he would have chosen but it was a life. These children needed him and he had a purpose that was meaningful to him. Not just a whim wreathed in politics and allegiances, built in dark rooms where hearts were made of coin. His prime had passed but they were the future. They were reckless and powerful and pure. In these long nights when he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the conviction that used to fill him with a righteous glow. The blissful, heady rush of knowing that you were doing _the right thing_.

If he could protect them. If they could take just a little less damage than he did... If he could somehow instil in them to trust their own hearts, to fight for what _they knew_ was right, maybe this fog of confusion and betrayal wouldn’t follow them. Maybe the pattern of youth, hurt, loss and revenge would end with him. Maybe they wouldn’t have to die for a cause that would live on, stretching into a future where the best of us were gone.

What was the point of winning the war, if that was the cost?

\---xxx---


	5. Poison

CW: alcoholism 

\---xxx---

He knew that it was killing him slowly.

He could feel the poison in his veins.

He’d seen so many hunters go down this path before. A drink after a long day became two. Then it was a drink every day. It was so easy to justify. It was a hard job, it helped him to relax. It helped him not to see the faces of all the people he’d had to leave behind.

But then all-of-a-sudden he was carrying around a flask and when it was empty it scared him.

And he didn’t like being sober anymore because it made him feel hungry deep in his soul. Like the emptiness was his and didn’t come from the booze anymore. Like it was something that had grown inside him and left all the things that he loved cloaked in a haze. His values, his dedication, his truth. He was lost in a darkness that he’d built to hide in. Something he’d made piece by piece and then drawn around him like a comforting blanket but when he needed to feel anything, _anything_ except the rage which twisted and boiled in his chest… it was all gone. And when he lay in the dark and felt the tendrils of scotch start to loosen and coil around his feet, he really didn’t know any more if he even wanted it back.

\---xxx---


	6. Flow

\---xxx---

Qrow’s breath burned in his chest. The metal sung in the air, cutting a pure jagged arc. He loved this sword with all his heart. It was his comfort, his solace, his only guiltless pleasure.

The tingling rush of exertion. The mindless bliss of reaction, movement without thought. Lost in the burn of forming muscles. Safe from memories, safe from hatred, safe from all but instinct. It was pure and gods he _needed_ something pure.

The blade was a part of him. It twisted around his wrist, his shoulders, whirling in a deadly arc. It was so elegant and perfectly balanced. He rolled his shoulder and the scythe hummed in the air. The Grimm screamed and a shower of dark dust burst over him. The blade was his dancing partner, his counterweight, his bitter rage. They flowed together in a whirling song.

Alone, he was lost, stumbling in the dark. Everything he believed was cast aside, wreckage on the rocky shore.

But with his feet planted firmly on the ground, with this arc of steel in his hands, he was _solid_. He remembered who he was.

He was Harbinger.

\---xxx---


	7. Night

CW: alcoholism 

\---xxx---

Three twenty-three am. His shaking fingers rake through his damp hair. The sweat rolls off him in waves and his stomach cramps. The muscle spasms ripple across his body in a clenching, nauseating wave. He curls his hand into a fist and his nails bite into his palms. He wants the pain because the pain makes it hurt less. The sharp bite takes his mind away from the pounding in his ears. The creeping shivers which choke the heat from his chest leave him weak and helpless.

He would come out of alcoholism the same way he went into it, tears streaming, chest heaving and utterly alone. The chemical sweat made his skin feel gritty, it dried to a grease. He saw the flask in his mind and sucked his cheeks in. He bit the soft skin and the sharp heat of blood filled his mouth. The pain.

Focus on the pain.

This night was no longer than any other.

He was no weaker than any other.

The day would come like every other and he would be _one more day sober._

But for now, he hated the night with every torn shred of his dignity. Every weak shuddering breath that clawed its way out of his trembling body. The night was his enemy, his captor, his tempter. So he watched the dark horizon with tears streaming down his face and prayed for dawn.

\---xxx---


	8. Photos

\---xxx---

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. This one cost him half a lifetime.

It was bent, stained, yellowed with age. It was only half as old as he was. Maybe he was yellowed too.

Tai’s smile always drew his eye first. He called Yang his sunny dragon, the name that Summer used for him. Once he was bright, blazing with energy and fortitude. A man who used no weapon because the power in his fists was enough. The confidence in his smile burned bright as victory. Where had it gone?

The little glimpse of Summer’s face. Just after they took the picture he had pulled her hood back, laughing that if the audience had to endure his face then at least they could be comforted by hers. A glimpse was all they got, though. All any of us got.

All these hours awake at night, sudden insomnia from his new sobriety. He hated it. Too much time to think about the past.

Raven’s eyes were cocky. Full of secrets. They hadn’t changed. She stood at the very front and glared at the camera, daring anyone to challenge her conviction. Daring anyone to say that she was wrong. To say it _to her face_.

When he looked at himself he only saw the stubble which adorned his chin. He’d been so proud of it. Gods, they were all so young.

Heroes die for a reason. Was that all he’d really wanted? A good reason to die?

He wanted so much to go back to that moment. To when he felt grounded in the lilt of Summer’s laugh, the beautiful shade of Ozpin’s lies.

He should put the photo in a frame. It belonged to a world that doesn’t exist. A world of logic and rules and clear, clean lines. Put it in a museum, a relic of a fiction he dreamed. And with Oz gone it did feel like a dream. As if magic and heroes and demons never really existed and it was just a fever, a hallucination of guilt and withdrawal. If it wasn’t for the feather he kept in his pocket, he’d think he was going mad.

He wanted to go back but even in longing, he knew it was a fantasy. There was never certainty. There were never clear, clean lines. There were only blinkers to keep him looking forward. To keep him from seeing the things that Oz had deemed inappropriate for him to see. Like a child. Were we all just children to him? Probably.

Little kids touching things that they ought not touch and complaining when they got hurt.

This place. That’s what it is, _Remnants_. Tatters and torn shreds. Echoes and memories so weak and distant they felt like someone else’s dreams. And they were, it turned out.

\---xxx---


	9. Coffee

\---xxx---

“Qrow…” the deep voice cut into his hazy morning headache, the throb of sleeplessness that felt like sand behind his eyes.

He blinked up into a warm smile, clear teal eyes bright with concern and an outstretched hand carrying a cup of coffee.

“Long night?” Clover asked.

They were all so long these days. Endless.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep so well,” Qrow said, coaxing a smile from his worn face.

“Here, I got you a coffee. Get it down fast and you’ll feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Clover handed him the drink and sat beside him, radiating calm. Qrow put the cup to his lips and the strong heat of it startled him back into life.

“Just look at them,” Clover said. Qrow looked at him, following his gaze. He was watching the kids, they were spilling from their seats with youthful exuberance, chattering and giggling and full of life.

“Don’t know how anyone can have so much energy in the morning,” Qrow grumbled. His face lit up with joy at the sight of them.

“It’s hard to believe that they came so far, through so much to get here,” Clover smiled. “Those happy faces are proof of your good guidance. They can still be young because of you.”

Qrow blinked as the words settled. “They’re tough kids,” he said.

“But kids they are and that’s all down to you.”

Qrow looked into that compassionate gaze and wondered how a man so calm, so full of confidence could see the pain that he buried deep. Did he know how much Qrow needed those words, needed to believe that he’d done one good thing in his dark and stupid life? Or was he just so full of compassion that he naturally spoke those words of sweet comfort without even knowing how they wrapped Qrow with warmth? How they filled him with something which he thought perhaps he’d never feel again…

_Pride._

\---xxx---


	10. Magic

CW: mention of Chapter 12

\---xxx---

Magic.

It was everything he hated and everything he loved.

Oz’s magic had stripped him of everything. Left him as blank and formless as canvas. Then when he was utterly empty, Oz had filled him again. Filled the empty hole in his soul with fairy tales and magic. Sometimes he could feel it flicker underneath his skin, lighting up his nerves with a sparkle like addiction. Intoxicating as the first drink of the morning, back when it still tasted like her name. 

Magic had taken his heart. It had taken his dreams and replaced them with the dreams of a whole world. It was too much, too heavy for a man who was not much more than a child. A man whose soul was already bruised with the guilt and shame of betrayal.

But Oz had told him that there was no such thing as pure darkness. Every dark thing had a point of light buried at its core and every beam of sunlight would eventually cast a shadow.

Magic had taken his soul but now it would give him back Clover.

And in the dank cold of an airless prison cell, he knew he would take that bargain again and again.

\---xxx---


	11. Warm

CW: mention of Chapter 12

\---xxx---

Three freckles adorn Clover's wrist, just above where the IV tube goes in. Qrow can't drag his eyes from the pulse. The thrum of these veins is a hymn and this vigil is his devotion. 

He worships the heat in Clover’s hands, still in that sterile white hospital bed. The rise and fall of his bandaged chest. Warmth is life. The ice and death of the tundra melting in his heart.

A second chance.

Clover’s brow creases and he groans softly. Qrow leaps to wring a face washer to dab the sweat from that broad brow. Every noise Clover makes, every grimace and shudder makes Qrow’s cheeks and nose tingle. The tears threaten to spill but he holds on.

Clover’s first sight when he wakes will not be a blotched and tear-stained face. Qrow will smile down into those teal eyes and laugh, a light “Lucky you, huh?” tumbling from his bitten lips.

He will do this one thing for Clover if it kills him.

The hurt and the betrayal had burned in him so bright but as warm blood splashed on Qrow's hands, he realised that he would endure a thousand sins much more grave, just for the chance to tell this man that he forgave him everything.

\---xxx---


	12. Beach

CW: mention of Chapter 12

\---xxx---

The sand was hot between Qrow's toes, warmed by the summer sun. The glittering silica of a million shells, made by all the tiny creatures of the deep, then ground to powder by the ceaseless waves long after they were dead and gone.

Clover splashed in the shallows. He was frolicking with the kids as if his life had been pure sunshine. How could a man come back from the dead and still smile?

Qrow knew that it had hurt him. It still did. Ah, but you would never know it from _that smile_. Clover wore a t-shirt even in the water. Maybe he didn’t want his scar to upset them... maybe he just couldn’t bear to look down at it himself.

He knew that Clover came with them because he needed to forget. The turbulence of rage and duty had torn through his soul like wildfire and even now, so many of his actions still smacked of penance. All this light, all this sunshine was jarring, surreal after everything that had been. But the water was cold and full of salt and it washed them with a tenderness which felt like gratitude. A world saved from the forces of darkness, gifted another sunrise by the blood they had all spilt. By the sacrifices they had made.

Perhaps Remnant could give back some of what she had taken and the clear saltwater would finally wash these bloody hands clean.

\---xxx---


	13. Touch / Bite

\---xxx---

The cresting waves still came to shore, shimmering in a haze of heat and sunset gold. The sun still sank, saving its celestial glories for another dawn. The shadows still lingered long; stretching dark fingers away from the kaleidoscope of the heavens, the vivid tapestries of sea reflecting sky.

Remnant still turned.

In spite of everything.

Qrow looked beyond the distant horizon, his gaze vacant as he peered into his own soul. He could feel his mind slowly healing. The numbness became sadness but now he could almost believe that one day, it would fade to joy. The world still turned and he was still in it. There would be other battles as sure as night follows day, but they had fought and they had won, and they’d pushed the darkness back.

“It’s so beautiful,” Clover said.

“More than ever,” Qrow replied.

The stillness thrummed with the rhythm of the waves, the song of the breeze, the lilt of distant laughter in blossom-scented air.

“Thank you for letting me tag along. I know that I’m a bit of a fifth wheel in this whole thing,” Clover chuckled.

“It’s fine, lucky charm,” Qrow replied, the pet name making his heart surge with joy. “If anyone deserved a holiday, it was you.”

Qrow felt Clover move beside him and he drew in a tiny juddering breath as one arm wrapped around him. Clover’s fingers tightened around his waist and Qrow held his breath.

“Is that ok?” Clover asked softly.

Qrow put his arm across his body and put his hand on top of Clover’s. He clasped the calloused fingers, then worked his own worn fingers slowly between them.

“Yes,” he said softly. He leaned his head down onto Clover’s shoulder and breathed the scent of his skin. Slowly a warm, wet patch of salt formed, as Qrow soaked Clover’s top with guilty, ecstatic tears.

_It’s over._

_It’s finally done._

\---xxx---


	14. Shiny Things

\---xxx---

Crows like a little glitter and spark, this much was true. Qrow had quite the collection in his dusty room at the academy. One whole drawer filled with brass buttons, fishing hooks, silver coins and sweet wrappers. He felt so stupid hoarding them but whenever he went to throw them away he remembered how entrancing they were to beady, bright eyes. How much joy they had given him when he was out in the field, alone. And he couldn’t do it.

Simple, innocent pleasures were so hard to come by. Why should he deny himself harmless joy?

He held up a shiny coin between his fingers and watched the way that the polished surface reflected the light. It bounced and gleamed away, sending a bright little patch of reflected glory scudding across the wall beyond.

This had been his most priceless treasure for so long. This little patch of light in a world too thick with darkness to navigate. But now he had a better treasure.

He closed the coin inside his palm and held it to his chest. He didn’t need this comfort anymore. His treasure was green, green like the clear ocean waves closing over white sand. Green like the sunshine piercing a deep pond in a forest clearing. Green like the new growth of spring, struggling up through the ash to promise that the world would be lush again. The glitter and spark of a priceless gem, emeralds in starlight. Hope in the darkest night.

Clover’s eyes were his treasure now because they were truly his. Not a bright discarded treasure, pilfered from another person’s life.

He had his own treasure now. He let the coin fall back into the drawer and closed it, then he walked out into the hall. Away from these poignant, bitter little triumphs. Towards new light.

\---xxx---


	15. Sweets

\---xxx---

“Vanilla?” Qrow laughed, “Are you kidding?”

“There’s nothing wrong with vanilla!” Clover huffed. “It’s a wonderful flavour. Pure.”

Qrow grinned; of course Clover liked vanilla ice cream. He was so wholesome it made Qrow’s liver ache. Qrow looked him in the eyes and took a lascivious lick of his own chocolate triple-fudge choc-chip cone. Clover’s eyes widened as he watched Qrow’s tongue skirt around and then vanish again between pink lips.

“You look like you wouldn’t mind trying a little chocolate,” Qrow smirked.

“No, no I’m fine. I’ve just never wished I was an ice cream cone before.”

Qrow chuckled and elbowed him, “Clover! You can’t say that! The kids might hear you.”

“Then stop eating like that. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Like what?” Qrow asked, feigning innocence. He slowly drew the cone to his lips and let his tongue swirl delicately around the top. A little flick of the frozen peak then he licked the last remnants of chocolate from his lips.

“ _Qrow_ …” Clover breathed, his voice little more than a growl.

“What? I thought you said you didn’t like sweets.”

“I am in serious danger of changing my mind.”

\---xxx---


	16. Charm

\---xxx---

“I used to think I was lucky,” Clover mused. Candlelight warmed his eyes, a tiny flame dancing in each pupil.

“Did dating me change your mind?” Qrow asked. He meant it as a joke, something along the lines that Clover can’t have been that lucky or he would have avoided the whole mess of angst and misfortune that was Qrow Branwen.

“In a way, it did.”

Qrow frowned slightly, a stone of guilt sinking in his chest; heavy and cold.

“I didn’t know what luck was until I met you, Qrow. I thought that it was good timing and lucky catches and never missing the bus. What a _joke_. Meeting you made me realise how small my dreams were. You’re perfect in ways I could never have imagined.”

Clover told him once that words have power. If you speak a thing aloud, you give it presence in the world. By speaking his love, he strove to make it tangible. He built this nest of comfort for them both, out of words of love. Qrow tried not to stop him, every time he tried. But hearing words of praise in his honour made his chest ache in a way which was almost unbearable.

“Shut up, you’re such a soppy idiot,” Qrow huffed.

_I want it too much but I can’t stand it._

Clover simply shook his head, “I need you to know. Your laughter is my second heartbeat. Your eyes are my compass. Being with you makes me better, every single day a little more.”

“You’re going to run out of this shit one day,” Qrow said, as the first tear squeezed out between his lashes.

Clover grinned; playful, light... “I will never run out of ways to tell you I love you, so suck it up, Branwen.” He was always so careful to give Qrow room to breathe; a little joke to hide behind.

Qrow huffed with laughter and brusquely wiped the tears from his eyes. “You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe you’re making me cry on a date. Isn’t that against the gentleman’s code or something?”

“It’s more of a guide,” Clover winked; light as a feather. “You know sometimes I wonder… If we pinch each other, who do you think would wake up?”

Qrow reached out a hand and Clover took it. He clung to it, wordlessly.

_I used to think I was unlucky._

_Maybe I was just saving my luck for you._

\---xxx---


	17. Dance

\---xxx---

Qrow’s hands were designed for Clover’s hips.

Their bodies moved together in harmony, in synergy. A whole that was infinitely better than the sum of these disparate parts.

A perfect complement in battle. Clover’s defence a solid bassline, Qrow’s offence a soaring melody. It felt so easy. As if they had trained together all their lives.

A perfect fit in lovemaking. Clover’s pull was Qrow’s push. Qrow’s long fingers custom-built to grasp at these thick muscles. The dizzy rush of curves that arced in perfect symphony.

In this moment, Clover’s perfection was his arms around Qrow’s shoulders. His soft hair, his bright eyes, his warm chest. The way his hip slotted just below Qrow’s own in a little notch fit only for this purpose. They took turns to lead and where one led, the other surely followed. Effortless in ease, synchronised in song.

_If I could only have one moment, I would choose this._

The music swelled, building into a swirling crescendo of bright notes bursting into triumph. Qrow's heart beat to the rhythm of their steps, as he lived in this pure moment. Wanting to be nothing more than a place for Clover to rest his head. Hoping for nothing more in return than a home for his own battered heart.

If this was all the reward he could expect after a broken, scattered and turbulent life, then it was enough.

More than enough, it was _worth it._

As the music swirled around them and the heat of that solid chest permeated his soul, he breathed into that thought. So many tears, so many nights alone.

It was all worth it.

\---xxx---


	18. Myths / Legends

\---xxx---

What’s your favourite fairy tale?

Qrow didn’t really like fairy tales as a child. Other children giggled and shrieked at the idea of talking birds, trolls under bridges, old men who bestow magical powers upon maidens who come and do their laundry… Qrow just thought it was creepy. He couldn’t even figure out the moral of most of them. Be nice to creepy old people who live in the woods? Don’t eat people’s houses? What the hell was he meant to do with that little kernel of wisdom?

But then he discovered the Grimm Reaper.

This was a different kind of tale entirely. A story of a real person who walked through life with such strength and conviction that they became a legend. And Qrow knew, even as a little boy, that was what he wanted to do. Before the world beat him down and made him believe that he was a bane, a curse. Before the tribe told him that he was most valuable far, far away. Before Oz told him that his best skills were in lies and subterfuge. Before the pain which drove him numb… he dreamt of silver eyes.

He made Harbinger in the Reaper's honour and honed his craft in her name. When he made it to the Academy, he heard whispers of another. He could scarcely believe it was true. When he stumbled blindly around a corner in the forest looking for his sister, he saw silver eyes. Summer Rose, standing in a clearing, looking straight at him.

“Took you long enough,” she had said. As if they were destined to meet this way.

He looked at her then the way he always had, as a legend. She was the embodiment of all his dreams. The one last thing that was heroic and pure. The girl who would walk through life like a king tide, wiping away everything in her path and washing the world clean. When he lay awake at night, full of self-hatred and doubt at his betrayal of the tribe, he found comfort in those eyes.

Summer Rose was the fairy tale he told himself. She was the myth he made to soothe the guilt and the doubt. And even if he had lost the right to be the hero of his own story, he could be a part of hers.

Then she was gone.

And then it all changed and he was left without a guide. Without a rudder to show him how to navigate these treacherous waters. He became lost. He stumbled through life, not so much walking as falling forward, scrambling desperately to keep from hitting the ground.

Then there was Ruby.

He held her as a baby and saw the light in her eyes. He came back to her as a child and got to know her better, but he didn’t hold out much hope really. Hope was painful, after-all.

Then the tale of the fall of Beacon reached his ears and it was whispered in hushed tones across crowded tables. It was uttered with the same hushed awe that the stories of the Grimm Reaper used to travel in.

Ruby Rose, the last of the silver eyes.

His heart swelled in his chest when he looked at her sweet young face; brave and kind and pure.

He had a favourite fairy tale again.

\---xxx---


	19. Plants / Flowers

\---xxx---

He knew the girls would want to come here too so he had to pick a moment when he could slip away unnoticed. The night air ruffled his hair and the gentle grass slope rippled in the breeze. The scent of wood smoke and summer blossoms still lingered and he took a deep breath of it, letting himself feel the turbulence in his chest.

He toyed with the stem in his hands; he had left the thorns because they were a part of the rose. Every sunbeam casts a shadow, eventually. He stooped and placed the single flower before the stone.

A summer rose.

“I’m annoyed at you,” he said. The words seemed so loud in the night, even though they were uttered at barely a whisper. “You said everything would be ok and I think you were right. How were you always right?” he asked.

He knew her so well he could almost hear her reply. It tugged at his heart because it reminded him of all those times he had turned, thinking that he had heard her voice in the weeks and months after she had gone. Turned with his heart in his throat, a surge of hope and terror churning in his chest…

But now was not the time for mourning.

“You should see her, Summer. She’s so strong, wise beyond her years. Still sweet and soft, even though she’s been through just as much as we did. She never lost her shine, just like you. And Yang! She had so much to deal with this year and she’s become the most incredible woman. She's level-headed and powerful, full of strength and passion. I’m so proud of them, Sum. You’d be proud of them.”

A light chuckle found its way to his lips as he heard her inevitable reply.

_I’m proud of you too, Qrow._

_Thank you._

\---xxx---


	20. Food

\---xxx---

“I call dibs!” Nora shouted.

“What are you calling dibs on?” Blake asked, glancing up from her loved up little cuddle on the couch.

“This,” Nora gestured expansively, taking in the entire table.

“I think there’s enough for all of us, sparky,” Qrow laughed, ruffling her hair.

“Hey!” she swatted his hand away and laughed, “I don’t want to share!”

“I think what Nora means is that we would like to give our compliments to the chef,” Ren said smoothly. He reached out and clasped her hand, an indulgent smile threatening to break through his impassive features.

“You’re welcome!” Tai called out from the kitchen. “I’m not the best but I know good comfort food.” He rounded the corner with a plate piled high with roasted vegetables. He set it down at the head of the table and smiled, “Alright that’s it. Everyone dig in.”

With a scraping of chairs and a clatter of plates, the kids began to help themselves. They chattered and giggled as they passed the dishes around. Nora threatened anyone who asked for gravy and Yang showed them how to fold a napkin into a nevermore. Ruby told a story and knocked her drink over when she reached the final “Ta da!” and they scrambled to mop up the juice before it dripped onto the floor.

Qrow looked around and just basked in the chaos of it, the simple pleasures of life and noise and youth. He picked out their faces one by one, living for a few joyful moments in each precious smile. Eventually, his gaze met Tai’s. There were a few more lines around those blue eyes than there used to be. He still looked so boyish and handsome though. Summer would have laughed so hard. Over forty and still a babyface. As Qrow looked into those familiar eyes, he realised there was another change. One that was infinitely more important. Somehow, in the midst of this chaos and cacophony, the light had started to return to those eyes.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Summer’s voice, that lilting laughter that lit him up like summer sun,

“Took you long enough,” she said.

\---xxx---


	21. Family

\---xxx---

Clover’s hand wrapped around his, a calloused thumb stroking the back of his hand lightly. The firelight gave the room a cosy heat. There was something about the crackle and spark of an open flame which still managed to give him comfort even after all these years.

The kids had gotten used to Clover’s presence now, used to the way their hands seemed to find each other whenever there was a lull that could possibly be filled with affection. They’d even started to enjoy Clover’s boundless energy, his easy smile, his ridiculous pep talks.

Qrow let his head fall onto Clover’s shoulder and looked across the room. Yang looked back at him and smiled. Blake was asleep, her head resting in Yang’s lap. The rest of the kids were huddled on the floor playing a card game. Even Weiss had deigned to sit on the ground after some false protest and very little in the way of convincing. Ruby was winning, Nora was raging and everyone was smiling. Tai stood in the doorway, a steaming cup of Lap Sang Su Chong in his hands.

It didn’t feel familiar, this quiet moment of domestic peace. It felt foreign and a little spooky. As if someone was about to kick down the door and scream that they only had twenty-four hours to prevent the end of the world. He smiled, rolling his eyes at his own drama. He didn’t like that this peaceful scene made him feel awkward. It was just so far from everything he had known. So far from what he had come to think of when some unthinking fool uttered the word _family_.

He felt soft lips kiss the top of his head and Tai gave him a wink from across the room. Jaune laughed as he finally made his move and won the game. The space on the rug became a giggling mass of play fighting as cushions were thrown in protest.

Maybe with time, he could replace those painful memories and when he thought of family, his mind would come back to this place.

The place where all the broken pieces came to become whole again.

\---xxx---


	22. Birds

\---xxx---

He saw her in the trees. To people all birds look the same but to a crow, she was absolutely Raven. She cocked her head to one side, watching. Her beady eyes skittered, always looking for a threat, ever alert.

He knew she would come but even then he’d doubted it. He’d been sure about Raven a thousand times before. Once, they were almost of the same mind. They had the same thoughts, the same hopes, the same desires. But somehow that had changed. He looked directly at her; he wanted her to know that she had been seen. Perhaps as a challenge, even he wasn’t sure.

She ruffled her feathers and huddled lower. _You don’t scare me baby brother_.

He smiled. He hadn’t intended to try to scare her, he didn’t need to. He knew that the thing she was most frightened of was right in front of them. Tai’s sunny dragon.

He looked at Yang and noted her joy as she wiped sweat from her brow and smudged dirt on her face. She had been gardening with Blake and Ren. They were trying to teach her to weed but she kept pulling up the baby radishes.

He wondered what Raven thought of this. Whether she was happy for her daughter or somehow angry that she wasn’t training, getting stronger. Raven had always had disdain for the soft things in life, pointless things like happiness. He knew why she was cynical and it pulled at his heart. She was too afraid to let herself hope that she could be happy. He knew exactly what that felt like.

He almost walked over to her, called out to her to join them. To be a part of this. She had done the wrong thing but he had too. Hell, everyone had made bad choices but they didn’t have to colour your whole life. He knew though that she wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to scare her away by threatening her with her heart’s secret desires.

It came to him in a burst of insight that this was ok. She could be distant but still family. She could be scared but still welcome. He knew that Yang was still full of rage but in his heart, there was only pity. He had finally tasted that elusive nectar of comfort and wished he could give her this feeling, just for a moment.

Just so she could believe it was real.

\---xxx---


	23. Transformation

\---xxx---

Golden light kissed the curtains, light breeze made them sway. Clover’s heat was a miracle he exalted in every day.

“I love you,” Clover said. He said it in place of good morning. He said it in place of goodnight.

Qrow turned in his arms, brushing aside a few messy bangs to reveal his treasures of teal. “Come on Cloves, you love everyone,” he teased.

“No, there’s only you.”

Qrow put his head down, cheek to collarbone, warmth of bed and scent of skin. A muscled thigh wrapped around his waist and Clover held him tight. He hadn’t meant to be so sentimental but the words bubbled up in his chest and his heart poured out into this sacred space. “Thanks… for everything, I guess. You’re… solid. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

“I need it too. I’ve had some long nights, Qrow.” Lips pressed into his hair, warm breath whispering a kiss into his greying temples, “Thank you for being there when I needed you. You’ve always been the stronger of us.”

Qrow lifted his head and smiled, “Where else am I going to go?”

Clover wrinkled his freckled nose, “That sounds less romantic than you think.”

“You’re such a brat,” Qrow chuckled.

“I am. Now take the compliment. We’ve gone over this far too many times. I’ve a mind to get a tattoo to save wear and tear on my voice.”

“I’m not that bad,” Qrow grumbled.

“You’re _incredible_. That’s my point.”

The words were easier to hear these days. Sometimes he even believed them.

Qrow took a breath. “I… don’t know if you know where I was when I met you… I’d been through a lot of things and let it all build up. You know how it goes, huntsman… military, it’s all the same.”

“I know,” said Clover, “all too well.”

“I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

“Then I guess we’re even,” Clover’s thumb stroked his jaw, reverence in his touch.

“Don’t deflect!” Qrow poked the end of that perfect nose with one long finger.

“Yessir,” Clover smiled.

“You reached out to me when I really needed one good thing. One good thing to look forward to. It was important. _Thank you_.”

“You’re welcome,” Clover said softly, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“What are you smirking about?”

“You’re soppy now.” Clover looked far too smug.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. Look at you, all tender. It’s _gross_.” The perfect nose crinkled in distaste.

Qrow twisted around to get the high ground, propping himself up on his elbows, “How dare you!?”

“You’re as soft as a teddy bear,” Clover ruffled a hand through his hair playfully.

“Brave words for a man who lies next to me unconscious and vulnerable every night,” Qrow growled.

“Fairy floss,” Clover’s fingers skirted his sides, just starting to tease and tickle.

“Fuck off!” Qrow swatted his hands away.

“Marshmallows. That’s what you remind me of. _Marshmallows_.”

“Look, I’ve always been a tough asshole and if that’s changed then it’s all your fault anyway. You ruined me!”

“Maybe a fluffy lil bunny rabbit…”

The pillow shut him up pretty good but it turned out lips were more effective.

\---xxx---


	24. Trust

\---xxx---

“Are you ok?” a gentle hand caught a single tear. He’d only been gone a minute but that minute had been endless. 

“I woke up and you were gone…” grasping hands pulled sheets tight, wrapping bare shoulders with threadbare comfort.

“I went to get milk; I didn’t think it would… I’m sorry. I should have known.”

“It’s fine, it’s stupid of me to get so upset. It’s ridiculous,” fierce fingers banished traitorous tears. 

“It’s not stupid. I should have known it would worry you,” he sat down on the bed and his warm embrace punctuated this promise. “You know I’d never leave."

"I…”

It still lived then, in that hesitance. An unspoken truth that he strove to honour. This man needed to know that he wasn’t weak. A broken world view refracted all light into jagged shards. Deep wounds take time to heal, especially in a heart already thick with scar tissue.

“You can’t help how you feel! You trusted him and he took advantage of that, which says a lot more about him than it does about you.”

“I ignored my gut when it told me it was wrong. I should have questioned it! How could I have been so blind?!”

He spoke his love with body heat, acceptance warm and pure.

A shaky breath pushed the pain of heartbreak into meaning, “I thought I could be a hero! I led the next generation into that storm…”

This, he had to challenge. “You fought hard for what you thought was right. If they learned from you to stand up for what they believe then you’ve taught them the most important thing there is.”

“I… how can I move on when I fall apart if you go to buy milk?!” crumpled sheets tethered trembling hands, knuckles white as bone.

“There’s no rush to move on, hey? I promise I’ll always be here. You don’t need to trust me. You can just reach out your hand and I’ll hold it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I do trust you…” his voice wavered.

“Clover, look at me. I’ve never had a scar I didn’t earn but they healed eventually, all the same. Every day will get a little easier but you never have to walk alone. We’re in this together now, no matter the cost. You’re safe with me.”

“I know… I know…” Clover’s shoulders heaved and hot tears poured down his face.

“Trust takes time, Cloves and we have time. Just… come here.”

He could feel Clover’s heart hammering in his chest, his body still reeling from that rush of clenching terror. Qrow knew what it felt like to dance around that first warm flush of trust. The feeling was foreign, painful like a grain of sand that might one day become a pearl. It was terrifying and beautiful and vulnerable.

It was a pain he cherished where once his chest was empty.

“We can learn to trust again together,” Qrow said as he wrapped his whole soul around this man in all his beauty. All his strength. All his vulnerability. “It’s ok. You’re safe, babe. You’re safe with me.”

\---xxx---


	25. Music

\---xxx---

Qrow strolled along the forest path whistling a cheery tune.

“What is that song?” Clover asked, “It’s so beautiful and I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

“It’s a skylark song, they sing it in the spring when they soar up really high then they stop singing and spiral down to the ground. They do it to impress their mates, tiny show-offs.” Qrow smiled and bumped Clover with a gentle teasing elbow.

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever heard you whistle before…” Clover mused.

“Ah,” Qrow waved dismissively, “it’s just a nice day.”

And it was true. The sun dappled the path and the air was filled with hope and birdsong.

Qrow pursed his lips and let out the first few notes of the lark’s sky song.

Beside him, Clover smiled and laced his fingers with Qrow’s own.

A _beautiful_ day.

\---xxx---


	26. Colour

\---xxx---

“Did you ever study colour theory?” Clover asked.

“Uh, no,” Qrow replied. Colour theory? He wasn’t even sure what that was.

“Well, we have semblances which might be considered opposites…”

“Yeah,” Qrow agreed, wondering where this might be going.

“And I was just thinking about colour and I realised… I think our eyes are opposite colours.”

“I didn’t know colours had opposites,” Qrow said. Opposite eyes?

“They do and on the colour wheel, your shade of rose petal red is the exact opposite of my murky seawater teal.”

“Your eyes are gorgeous, Cloves,” Qrow tutted. “Are you sure?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“It’s weird. We have opposite semblances _and_ eyes?”

“It’s astonishing. It’s almost enough to make you believe in soulmates,” Clover smiled.

“Star crossed lovers?” Qrow pondered out loud. Not too long ago he would have laughed but he was not laughing now.

“Brought together by fate, destined to find each other no matter what obstacles stand in their way!” Clover gestured, hamming it up.

“And you ruined it. You are such a dork,” Qrow huffed.

“But I am your dork. Lucky you, huh?”

\---xxx---


	27. Accessory

\---xxx---

Qrow couldn’t figure it out. It seemed so much heavier than his other rings. A little band of silver accented only by a deep-set sparkling gem. Such a tiny thing to weigh so much.

He loved the weight of it. Such a little thing but it meant so much. A promise.

A dream of a life.

A future.

\---xxx---


	28. Fireflies

\---xxx---

The heat of day still lingered in the air. Scents of summer days, warm food and laughter gracing the breeze like the dying notes of a song. The reverberation echoed in his soul as the last rays of sun faded into hush.

The darkness was soft, wrapping him in stillness. The soothing absence of noise and light, the emptiness of calm. Clover’s arm stretched out as he pointed to the tree line. From the depths of the forest, a little green glow flittered. Fireflies, coming out to fill the night with their gentle, fragile glow.

The little motes of light swirled and chased each other. Each tiny point a short life. But to the fireflies, it wouldn’t feel so short. Every hour was a day and each day was filled with this tranquil dance. This repeating song of birth, love and death. The rhythms of nature which ran like a stream through all of them, uniting them in their fragility, their common purpose. To give the world one more firefly. One more little life to cherish.

When he was a child he caught some in a jar. Their little lights dimmed and he wondered why they seemed so sad. He didn’t understand that they missed their families. He couldn’t imagine what that felt like, or that something so small could have feelings bigger than anything he was capable of. When they finally went dim he let them go, only to marvel at the way their little lights shone again when they rose from his loving captivity and filled the skies once more.

Only in freedom could they shine so bright. They shone for each other, not for him.

Clover’s arms wrapped around him and his breath was sweet with raspberries and cream.

They shone for each other.

\---xxx---


	29. Nature

\---xxx---

“I know it’s a cliché but it really is all in the wrist,” Clover said. “You need to pay out enough line for the cast, see?” he pulled out a metre or two of fishing line and held it fast with one finger. “It’s a swish and a flick, like so.” He put the rod back over his shoulder then swished it forwards, he let the line go at the height of his cast and the tiny hook flew out in the sun. It sailed across the sparkling water and landed with a little splash.

“Seems like a lot of technique to just get a hook in the water,” Qrow said. He knew that this was one of Clover’s passions but it was still fun to tease him just a little bit.

“If you’re bored, we can stop,” Clover said apologetically.

“No, it’s nice. I’m glad you want to share it with me,” Qrow said.

Clover smiled, the boy-like glee returning to his face. “Once you have a good cast, you have to keep your rod up a little. You have to be able to feel the tug on the line but you need enough leeway to jerk the rod at just the right time if you want to catch a fish and not lose your bait. Now, you try.”

Qrow looked at the rod in his hands. He held it carefully, paying out the line and holding it like Clover had done. He lifted the tip of the rod and let the line fly, sailing out over the water. The hook landed just a few scant metres past where Clover’s line arced into the water. He looked over at Clover and adjusted the angle of his rod to match.

“Qrow! That was perfect, you’re a natural!” Clover beamed.

Qrow didn’t really care for fish. He ate it anyway but it didn’t give him the raptures that seemed to fill Clover when he put a succulent morsel between his lips. Qrow didn’t even care for the beauty of the scene as much as he probably should. Nature was stunning but he’d lived outdoors for most of his life and one sparkling lake in the sunshine was much the same as another.

He cared about _the smile._

The way Clover’s face lit up with joy when he talked about something he loved.

“Thanks Cloves, this is great,” he said, his words failing to express the joy he felt at being here, basking in that smile.

“I’m so glad you like it! I used to love fishing so much when I was a kid. My dad took me out all the time and it just makes me think of family. I can’t wait to show you all my favourite places. Share all the beautiful things I’ve found in my life, you know? I just… want you to be happy.”

Qrow looked into that sweet face, that cherished face lit with joy.

“I’m happy, lucky charm. If I’m honest, I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.”

\---xxx---


	30. Hands

\---xxx---

Clover’s hands were rough with callouses. They were the hands of a fighter, after all.

They were gentle when they held him, stroking his hair from his forehead as Clover pressed a soft kiss to his brow.

They were firm as they clasped his hips, pulling him close in a rush of giddy sensation that sent spun gold juddering through his veins in a burst of glitter and spark.

They were meticulous and neat, as they penned a line of poetry, curled cursive which filled his heart with an ache he almost couldn’t bear.

They were warm when they closed over his, two new rings glinting in the sun. A matched pair to weave their opposite fortunes into one breath, one life.

They were delicate beyond belief when they brushed the single tear from his cheek, muttered reassurances falling around him as he struggled to hold too much joy in a space built for so very little.

They were strong when they lifted his chin and drew him close, arms wrapping around him and holding him fast.

And when those calloused fingers curled in his jacket and the soft sigh of his name whispered from Clover’s lips, those hands were his anchor. His comfort. His guide.

His today.

And his forever.

\---xxx---


	31. Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for coming with me on this journey of healing. Writing hurt/comfort in drabble form was so different but it let me really explore some backstory and philosophy that has bubbled away in my mind in relation to Qrow forever. After everything that has happened to Qrow in canon, giving him this healing journey felt so important and hearing such kind words along the way meant the world to me <3

\---xxx---

“It’s not very big,” Clover said, swinging the door open and gesturing for Qrow to go inside.

The little cottage was wood and sunshine. It smelled like turpentine and little motes of dust swirled in the slanting light, spilling from the open window and onto the wooden floor.

“It’s perfect,” Qrow smiled.

Clover walked behind him and closed his arms around Qrow’s waist. He leaned into the warm chest and closed his eyes.

_Home._

He’d never really had a home before. He had justified it a thousand ways. He was a nomad, a free spirit. Not a man to be chained down to one place by ties of emotion and responsibility. He craved freedom, he told himself, and a home was a bond. It would fix him in place, prevent him from being _free._

It seemed such a paradox. Now that he stood with his feet firmly on the ground, his husband’s arms wrapped around his waist, he felt freer than he had ever felt. He felt like he was soaring in the blue heavens above, weightless as a bird in the eternal arc of sky.

How had been so afraid of something so beautiful? Why had he run from this feeling when it swelled in his chest like pure sunshine?

Even a lark which beat its tiny wings until it reached the very edge of the boundless sky had a nest. A little nook of twigs and leaves, collected from a harsh and unforgiving world to form a safe space. A warm place. A little haven in a vast world filled with danger.

“It’s like a little nest,” he said, his swirling thoughts failing to find purchase.

“A little nest for a pretty bird,” Clover whispered in his ear. “So what does it feel like, being home to roost?”

It was a good question but the feeling in Qrow’s chest couldn’t be reduced to words. It was like cracked, parched earth finally welcoming the monsoon rain. Maybe like the first rays of dawn at the end of the longest winter night. Maybe it was lying in the dirt half your life and then finally remembering to look up at the stars.

“It feels like I love you,” Qrow said.

“I love you too. Now, come on, let’s unpack. We have a lot of joy to squeeze into the rest of our lives and I can’t wait to get started.”

“Can we stay like this a little longer first?” Qrow asked.

“As long as you like.”

So they stood in the empty room as the sun slowly marked the passage of time, rolling across the floor. The sound of bird song filtered in and the arms around him squeezed him tight.

“I love you,” Qrow said again, because it was the only thing that felt even close to right.

Clover stepped back and put his hands on Qrow’s shoulders, guiding him to turn. Their eyes met and those green gems sparkled just for him. He leaned in and kissed those precious lips. Familiar, comforting, soft and warm.

“Maybe the unpacking can wait…” Clover said.

“Only if you can bear to postpone all that joy,” Qrow teased, his fingers curling on Clover’s hips.

Clover nodded judiciously, “I’m a very patient man.”

“That so?” Qrow asked.

“Absolutely not,” Clover grinned. He swept Qrow up, lifting him off the floor and into his arms.

“You’re meant to carry me over the threshold Cloves, a bit late.”

“Oh, it’s never too late to sweep your husband off his feet, is it? Now mind your head,” he added as he carried Qrow up the rickety stairs.

“I guess not…” Qrow mused.

_Never too late, not even for this dusty old crow._

Clover set him down on the edge of the bed, mischief glittering in his eyes. “It’s a bit dusty…”

Qrow smiled as Clover's words mirrored his thoughts, “I don’t mind if you don’t,” he said.

“Let’s open the window and see if we can’t clear out some cobwebs,” Clover winked.

And as Qrow lay his silvered head down on the pillow and opened his arms in welcome, he could almost feel the last shadows on his heart wither in the face of this gentle brilliance.

He knew that nothing in life was certain but he had _today._

And today was glorious.

\---xxx---


End file.
